


Well, Would You Look at That.

by Muttsbedandbreakfast



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Coercion, Drowning, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Manipulation, Multi, Nightmares, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28750266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muttsbedandbreakfast/pseuds/Muttsbedandbreakfast
Summary: I can't tell you what's possessed me to post my writing online but it probably has to do with my very talented writer friend, Delicate_Doll, enabling me.





	1. Electric Sheep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Android's don't dream like people do. Their dreams are usually just memories. Usually.

"I think this production company is gonna be the death of cinema."  
"Dramatic. Didn't think you cared much about cinema."  
"To a degree. Hard not to care when it's you're entire life."  
chik  
The sound of a lighter and the crackling of a small flame is usually a comforting sound for Ace. Now it only turned his stomach. He could see the weak glow from the corner of his eye, glistening off the water that rested in pools on King's clothes. He wouldn't look directly at him, he knew what he'd see.  
"Spectacle works like this succeeding never go well for the industry. Copycats will start poppin' up and God help the poor souls working on those movies." He cups the flame in his hand, trying to light the cigarette perched in his mouth. The wind is always more intense up on the flat studio roof and threatened to blow the tiny flame out.  
"What about you?" The lighter is snapped shut and King slips it into his jacket pocket.  
Ace flinches as a bead of water lands just a little too close. He looks back at the sky, responding absentmindedly. "What about me?"  
"Any thoughts about the process, Moviestar?"  
"Can hardly make judgments from the other side of the screen."  
King laughs at that, a deep chuckle coming from his chest and carrying with it the crackle of seawater buried in his lungs.  
"Guess that wasn't fair of me to ask."  
His hand comes into Ace's view, offering the cigarette to him. He had cursed when he saw there was only one in the box and he cursed himself again for offering it to King in the first place. He reached out and took it, pinched between his index and middle finger. His hand was shaking, strange. He didn't remember it shaking at the time, and he didn't remember the tip being damp when he pressed it to his lips. Deep inhale, pause for three seconds, deep exhale. An all but automated action, no need to think anymore about it.  
"You know, it took 15 takes to get that car chase scene just right." He dares a glance to his left, King's looking up at the stars too, leaned back on his hands.  
"Wouldn't happen to be my fault would it?" Ace scoffs, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth.  
"You know it was. Can't keep a hold of yourself could you, Hotshot? Least I got to watch the director lose it every time you managed to get ahead of the getaway car. Call that entertainment."  
They both laugh this time, Ace resting a shaking hand on the edge of the building. It was a good memory really, one of his better ones. He could almost ignore the way King's laugh was warped, could almost ignore the sound of water splattering against the cement beneath them.  
King leaned into him then, of course, he knew it was going to happen, the dreams never strayed in that regard. What he didn't know was that when his shoulder touched his it would be ice cold. He couldn't have known just how fast the water would sink through his clothes and leech the heat from his skin. As much as he'd like to he can't move away, that's not how the script goes.  
"Why do you mention it?" He asks, staring out over the dark studio.  
That sickly pale hand reaches out toward him again, and Ace dutifully places the cigarette between his fingers. Ignoring the wet rasp of breath that is far too close now.  
"Just think that reality is much stranger then fiction, they're wasting they're time with this project."  
"Keep saying that and they might scrap us, save themselves the effort."  
There's a sharp exhale and the butt of the cigarette comes down on the concrete between them. Ace can imagine he almost feels the heat of it as it sparks against the roof.  
"You know we'd give 'em hell if they tried."  
"But if they managed it?" There's a pause. It wasn't unusual for him to hone in on the more dower part of a conversation. So when he did King simply sighed and tilted his head to one side. Ace looks directly at him now, choosing to look at his lips. They're quirked down in a small frown, an unnatural blue with a thick mixture of spit and seawater creeping down to meet his chin.  
"Heavy question," King mumbles, not seeming entirely surprised by the subject change.  
"I've never been one for light conversation."  
"I know, Ace." He looks away, his hand flexes. Probably wishing he had another cigarette.  
"I won't speak for you, and frankly I think you've got a better chance of getting out of here then I do, but I know I wouldn't just disappear. My story is out in the world, got my name on plenty of things. If I can give those bastards in the studio any credit, at least they made it so that I wouldn't be forgotten. Not completely."  
He looks back at Ace and smiles faintly, and finally catches his eye. He remembers a glimmer there, he was a stubborn man and like Ace always had high ambitions. It makes sense that living beyond death in people's minds would be one of them. Now though, those same eyes held something darker. Glazed over and unfocused, discolored, and bloodshot. There was no playful, determined spark, just that burning unwillingness to be forgotten.  
"You're included in that too you know."  
"Am I."  
"You know you can't really forget me."  
"A bit presumptuous." He smiles despite himself. He does know, and at the time that was a comforting sentiment.  
"Well, you remembered me earlier didn't you? They can try and erase me but I'll always stick with you, in one way or another." King places his hand on the back of Ace's neck and it sends a terrible shiver down his spine. Suddenly that smiles seems less warm then it did before, mocking almost. Had he known? He couldn't have, there's no way. All the little hints and the voice recordings and dreams, he couldn't have known what it would do to Ace after he died.  
His breath rattled in his chest as his thoughts spiraled. If he had? He said that he'd stick with Ace, did he do something to him? Mess with his coding in a way that would allow him to 'haunt' him. That was ridiculous, how could he have? That was really the only explanation though wasn't there? What else was there? He was actually manipulating things from beyond the grave? More likely, Ace was just going crazy. The memory felt so pointed though, direct in a way that sent his always over-analyzing brain spinning.  
The memory washed out from under him and he was plunged back into the dark waters of Biscayne Bay.  
The hand on the back of his neck stayed, grasping at him as the other clawed at his jacket for a hold. The salt stung his eyes but he still looked, watching as bubbles poured from King's mouth in frenzied bursts. He hadn't been expecting to hit the water and now he was choking on that mistake.  
Ace felt like he was taking in panicked breaths but he couldn't feel the water rushing in, couldn't feel air for that matter either. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe and this time he knew it was going to kill him. Down here in the pitch-black ocean with a dead man's hands still fisted in his hair and wrapped around his tie. He would be stuck sucking in imaginary air and still somehow living on it, waiting for the moment the water decided it was done keeping him drowning in suspense.


	2. One-sided Debt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody wants something.

Bone Daddy liked closing for the night. Not because he didn't like having the bar open, it was just satisfying to wrap everything up in a neat bow ready to be opened again tomorrow. Placing glasses upside down in the sink, chairs turned up on top of the bar so the openers can mop in the morning, turning the lights off, locking up, hitting Valentine with the door as he opens it to--

There's a groan at Bones' feet as he processes.

"Valentine? What on earth are you doing here?" He asks, blinking down at him for a moment before quickly shutting the door with a glance thrown toward the street.

Valentine, for his credit, makes an honest effort to stand on his own. Not that it mattered when his knees seemed to have decided they liked it better on the pavement. A hand braced against his forearm saw him on his feet and face to face with a very concerned Bone Daddy.

"Oh hey, thought you already gone for the night. What are you doing here?" There's a slur to his voice, and looking at his face, Bones can see that his eye light is fuzzy and dark.

"You're drunk."

"Nope."

"Wired then."

"You sound pretty sure of yourself."

"You're not exactly subtle."

Valentine laughs at that, shaking lightly against Bones' chest. He doesn't stop shaking as Bones gets an arm around him.

"Why are you here, Valentine?" It's a soft voice, one Val recognizes as the one he uses on his girls. He's quiet for a moment.

"Can't go home." That gets a worried glance that the merc shies away from.

"You could have gone to the shelter."

"You know how I feel about that."

"It's no trouble at all Valentine, the girls there--"

"Are scared of me. Don't lie to me Bones, I see how they look at me."

Bones is quiet, and Val takes the confirmation, not that he needed it. The first step toward the back of the bar makes him stumble; the second moves them into the opening of the alley.

"Where are we going?"

"I live above the bar. If you're worried about scaring the girls, then you'll be under my roof for tonight."

"Already taking me home, Big guy? Haven't even taken me on a date yet." He attempts a purr but his voice cracks, making them both grimace for different reasons. Bones sighs and just herds him toward the fire escape.

Inside he settles Valentine on the couch. When he comes back from the kitchen with a glass of water Valentine has his head between his knees, taking stuttering breathes in and out. He should expect it by now, but the jerk of Valentine's hand toward his holster as he sets the glass down still manages to tug a frown from him.

There's a smile on his face when the merc sits up, and that unsettles Bones more than the shaking hand that reaches for the glass.

"Ever gracious." Val sighs, downing the water quick enough and busying himself with stripping off his shawl and bandoleers.

"I thought you said you were quitting." That frown is still there, but now with a disapproving tilt.

"I did say that."

"So you were lying to me."

"I didn't lie." Valentine turns on him with a surprising amount of fire in his voice. "I didn't take shit."

The frown turns into a shallow scowl.

"Valentine-"

"I didn't take anything, Bones. I was Hungry."

Valentine wishes he had another glass of water. His throat sounded terribly dry.

Bone Daddy selfishly wishes for a moment that he didn't know what that meant. Imagines for a moment that if Valentine were to take off his shirt that he wouldn't see thin scratches lacing down his back and across his shoulder blades. Of course, he knows what that means, and no amount of cooing is going to make them sting any less.

So he settles for, "I'm sorry..."

Valentine's not looking at him, but his smile has fallen anyway.

"It's fine. Happened this morning. Was already coming down when I got here."

They're both quiet for a long moment after that.

Standing there is maddening, so Bones, with an excusing mumble, decides to wade through the silence and leave to wrestle a spare blanket from his closet.

He gets a glance.

"You didn't have to."

"I didn't want you getting cold out here."

"Meant letting me stay here." Red-eye flicking over the couch. Bones hesitates for a moment before sitting down next to him.

"You know it's no trouble."

He sets a hand on Val's knee. A mistake he realized as soon as he makes it, as he watches Valentine's eye light narrow to a point. Back in his lap then. Balled tightly together and Still, his eye doesn't leave them.

"You know that trouble doesn't matter. What do I owe you?"

Bones sighs. Every time they have this conversation, Valentine seems to forget what he said during the last.

"I don't want anything from you, Valentine."

"That's bullshit." His face is drawn into a scowl, and Bones desperately hopes he listens when he says it this time.

"You don't owe me anything, Cher. I do this because I want to help you."

Bones is looking right at him with that horrible pitying look on his face; he knows it.

But, He can't look him in the eyes because they're too goddamn earnest. They're too goddamn earnest, and he can't because if he does, Val knows he'll believe him.

So he kisses him instead.

It's a rough affair, teeth against teeth and Valentine's hands fisted in Bones' suit jacket. His eyes are closed, and Valentine selfishly imagines that he could enjoy this. He lets himself think about how kind Bones is instead of how much he owes him for every little act of kindness. Lets himself imagine that trait as a noble thing instead of a noose hung loosely around his neck. If anyone in this godforsaken place, he would want this with Bone Daddy. So when Bones' hands find his shoulders and push him away, it almost makes him sad.

But he's pulling away. He was so close to finally being done with this whole stupid game of generous cat and unwilling mouse, and he's pulling away. Valentine's face twists into a snarl.

"Goddamnit. Goddamnit Bones, what the fuck are you doing?" He wants to sound angry. He wants to feel angry. But, he just feels bitter at the way he chokes on the words and about the shimmering red that creeps its way into the corner of his eyesocket.

"You don't owe me anything, Valentine." Firmer this time. The grip on his shoulders sturdy and so irritatingly sure of itself.

And Valentine feels himself burst like a muzzle flash.

"Then what the Fuck are you doing? You pull me out of debt with Aranea, you try to give me a job at your bar, you fucking offer to let me stay in your home because I fucked up and lost my safe house! And for what?! So you can get off knowing that you can fuck with me however you want as long as I'm still taking favors from you!? Why do you keep doing this?" He snaps up to meet his eyes and-.

God. How the fuck can he make that face. How can he make that forgiving, loving fucking face at him?

"I want to help you. That's all, honest to god Valentine."

"How am I supposed to believe you?" Valentine says breathlessly, and he swears he can hear the angels mocking him because he wants to. He so badly wants to believe him, and maybe if Bones just tells him how to, it'll all start to make sense.

"You don't. You give me the chance to prove it to you."

In the privacy of his own home, Valentine will curse himself. He'll swear, he'll shout and say he'll never forgive himself for feeling safe as Bones wraps his arms around him and lets him stain that stupid pink coat of his a bloody, glistening red.


	3. Sugar in Your Teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A push and a pull, and the marks we leave behind.

The Hearts' apartment was Queensly's second favorite house (beat only by Goulds, but that comparison hardly felt fair). One of the things he liked was the funny push and pull happening in the decor, between cozy yellow and sleek grey.  
Sunflowers in a smooth metal vase in the entrance hall. A knitted blanket with a honeybee pattern thrown over grey tightly-stitched upholstery. Of course, there were little things that gave away the others that frequented. A red gas station lighter on the coffee table, a mug with the periodic table in the sink. The space always felt very lived in.  
If it wasn't for Johnny at his side, trying to put one of his piercings back in, he'd feel like he was intruding. Queensly knows that he may have had just shy of too many margaritas if the buzzing in his fingers and the fact he couldn't get the damn thing in right was anything to go by. Not that it mattered when he had a sweet thing offer to play host for a little while, he wasn't planning on driving home anytime soon anyway.  
"Aha! I got it!" Johnny chirped, sounding very proud of himself. Queensly didn't bother to tell him he could have just shifted it back on. Instead, he leans forward to settle his chin on top of Johnny's head, humming thanks into his mop of blonde curls. He couldn't see the amused expression in his amber eyes from there but, Queensly can hear it in his voice when he says, "Queensly, you're not going to fall asleep, are you? I didn't think you were a sleepy drunk."  
He's pushing Queensly up with a little huff, not bothering to move the arm that slips around his shoulder.  
"First off, I'm not drunk. Second, why would I want to sleep right now? Not often that I get you alone." A slow tilt backward gets Johnny to lean on him then, where Queensly can feel a giggle work its way through his chest.  
"Well, you don't visit near often enough. You know I have a very free schedule, bein' freelance and all." The demon hunter sighs and mindlessly twists a curl around his finger.  
"You know how it can get, between my classes and the extermination business, I'm a very busy man."  
Johnny gives him an unimpressed look as he pulls away, sliding his knee up onto the couch, wedging them apart as he reaches toward the neglected cups of tea on the coffee table.  
"Then you have no right to complain about not seein' me." He passes Queensly's cup over, with the obvious intent of getting him sober again. Queensly politely sips at it but he's never liked the taste, and promptly puts it back on the honeycomb-shaped coaster.  
"Not complaining about not seeing you, said I don't get you to myself often. What with the rotating cast of lovers you've got and all." Johnny's smiling but makes a show of rolling his eye.  
"I'm just a little popular, you know I'd make time for you. I'm sure the others wouldn't mind, you have me now though don't you? What did you want to do?" He's got that adorable, borderline smug smile on as his hand raises to bring the cup to his face.  
Not that he manages to take a drink before Queensly is pulling him by the thighs into his lap.  
Johnny raises his glass above Queensly's head to keep it from being jostled. Johnny clicks his tongue in irritation.  
"Queensly!--"  
"You wouldn't mind a little quality time with Ol' Queensly? You know me and I've certainly got a couple ideas if you'd be willing to humor me." His lips were pressed lightly against Johnny's skin, just enough to feel the pulse. He loved his human form, soft all over and positively thrumming with life instead of electricity. Johnny's other hand came to rest on his shoulder and didn't push as Queensly leans forward, sliding a hand up his back to savor the delicate arch of his spine. He's not pushing his luck, a chaste kiss to his jaw and a light hand on his hip is as far as he goes, satisfied in the way the sweet thing presses into him.  
Johnny hums sounding like he's deciding something. He runs his hand slowly across Queensly's shoulder and up his neck, and by the time he's cupping his jaw Queensly is the one arching up into his touch. His head is tilted back to meet Johnny's eye. Well, if that's what he was looking at. In all honesty, he couldn't keep his eyes off of his lips. Matte yellow was his normal go-to but today he'd had some kind of off-pink sparkly gloss that stuck to the rim of the mimosas they had earlier and stuck now to the rim of the star patterned mug in his hand. Queensly idly wondered how that sweet looking gloss would-- Johnny, the intuitive thing, seemed to sense what he was thinking and tilted his head to the side, looking Queensly up.  
Lips still pulled into that sweet smile as he proceeded to empty the rest of his mug on to Queensly's head, and down the front of his shirt.  
While the poor man was sputtering in disbelief, Johnny was standing before the tea even had the chance to reach his pants, gasping in fake shock.  
"Oh, Queensly. Look at the mess you made!"  
"The mess I ma--" Queensly starts to protest but is just as quickly cut off by a disapproving tsk.  
"You should know better than to move me while I was holding my tea." The mug is set down with a small clack. Freeing up Johnny's hands to brush the wet hair off of his face. He must look like a drowned rat because Johnny's face shifts into a pout of mock sympathy.  
"Poor thing, your make-ups running. Here, I'll go get you a towel." He pats Queensly's cheek before heading toward the kitchen and tossing a look behind his shoulder adds,  
"Oh, and Queensly? Be a dear and keep your legs closed. I don't want the couch to stain." With one final flash of a definitely smug smile, he leaves Queensly on the couch. Mouth agape and somehow feeling far less out of place than he had before now that there was spilled tea and honey quickly growing tacky on his skin...  
There was hardly a spot in the Hearts' household that didn't feel lived in. Grey wrinkled bed sheets in the laundry basket, and sun-bleached polaroids in the window.  
The little reminders in red pen hung on the fridge, the lines scored into the hardwood floor by one of the dining room chairs, and now the light tea stains soon to be on the underside of the couch cushions.


End file.
